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Sweet Spontaneous Spring

Spring has sprung in much of the country, and not a moment too soon (so sorry, midwesterners: hang tight). They say that global warming postponed this year's arrival, and that melting Arctic sea ice may be changing jet stream currents. Thankfully, whatever happened, winter seems to be finally taking a hike. In my neighborhood, cabin-crazed New Yorkers are pouring out of their winter cells, blinking at the sudden blaze of sunshine in a state of half-drunken joy.

Cafe chairs have suddenly appeared on the sidewalks and tourists are eagerly unfurling their maps on every corner. The news is still the news, much of it not good. There are weary battles to be waged, many of them soul-squelching (thanks, Obama, for that grandma-busting budget!). But as the Barlett pear trees burst into clouds of white and the breezes playfully toss their limbs, it's impossible not to feel joy. We humans need renewal, and thankfully, nature is still obliging us once a year. The poet e.e. cummings captured spring most magically to my ears, and not being much of a poet, I defer to him.

O sweet spontaneous

earth how often have

the

doting

fingers of

purient philosophers pinched

and

poked

thee

,has the naughty thumb

of science prodded

thy

beauty. how

often have religions taken

thee upon their scraggy knees

squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive

gods

(but

true

to the incomparable

couch of death thy

rhythmic

lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring)

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